I Will Fall
by MusicalCatharsis
Summary: Prologue to The Letter "My eyes are glued to her, with a blue bowl broken at my bare feet, and there's oatmeal residue on my toes, and pieces of ceramic are littering the kitchen floor." Braille backstory. :)
1. Chapter 1

**I'm afraid to go up onto the second floor**  
><strong>If you wanted to work it out why'd you lock the door<strong>  
><strong>I thought I was good at loving you<strong>  
><strong>But our light went out when you wanted it to<strong>  
><strong>I wish you the best, I'm headed west<strong>  
><strong>It's all I know to do<strong>

And she sits there, strumming on the guitar that I gave to her. The nude nail polish that Mariana had insisted she wear with her prom dress reflected the sunlight as her hand moved up and down on the six string. The words flowing from her mouth, in her melodic voice, puts me into a trance, and I continue to sit in the kitchen with my back to the glass door. She had left it cracked when she walked right past me, curlers in her hair, and green crap on her face. I had long since finished eating the meal that was threatening to come back up at the thought of seeing her in a formal dress again. My mind and body remembering the way I felt the first time I saw her dressed up. The day I realized she was a woman, one I was insanely attracted to.

I find myself listening intently to the lyrics of the song she is singing, my heart constricting at every syllable. And I know in the very depths of my soul that she is singing to me, for me. I allow myself another glance at the beautiful creature sitting on the grass below the tree that overlooks her bedroom. She has one knee up, the guitar resting comfortably there. And just looking at her, with her eyes closed, and that hideous green shit that all girls seem to wear, and those fluorescent curlers in her brown hair, makes my stomach lurch. Makes my heart race, and my palms sweat.

And that's when I admit to myself that this isn't work, that this was never working in the first place. That I've been lying to myself when I wake up from a dream with an erection, and I tell myself that it wasn't her I was dreaming about. And this realization hits me like a ton of bricks, it slams so hard into my body, that all of my breath leaves me. So now, I'm breathless, staring at her through the back door. And I realize that in that moment, I needed to get the hell out of there. I needed to be anywhere but in my fucking kitchen, staring at the girl who I kissed a few times two years ago. Who apparently I still carried a torch for. One, that didn't seem to want to go out, not anytime soon at least.

When her voice hits a particular note, I feel the pain in my chest, in my stomach, in my head. And I realize that my heart is breaking and god damn it, I'm crying like a little bitch into an empty bowl, one that held oatmeal over a fucking hour ago. I angrily wipe at my eyes, flinching at the sheer forcefulness of it, as her song continues, into a softer cord now, her humming along for a break in the lyrics. And my heartbeat settles down, for that I am grateful. So I quickly grab the ceramic bowl in a death grip, trying to escape the kitchen before she starts singing again. But my legs feel like lead, and they're not moving as fast and I want them too. I make it halfway to the sink when I hear her voice singing once again. The bowl falls from my hands, and my head snaps in her direction.

My eyes are glued to her, with a blue bowl broken at my bare feet, and there's oatmeal residue on my toes, and pieces of ceramic are littering the kitchen floor. I know my moms are going to be pissed because they just swept and mopped this floor, but damn it all to hell if I care at the moment. Because she's thrown her head back against the tree and she's belting out the lyrics now, the sun shining onto her on that patch of grass in my backyard. And she's all that I can see, and she's all that I can hear. My body is frozen in this position, and the pain is back tenfold.

She ends the song, her eyes snapping open and staring intently into my own. I tear my gaze away from her and make quick work of cleaning up the dish, and wiping down my toes, silently scolding myself for being so careless. And now before prom I would have to take yet another shower, but not before taking a quick detour into my bedroom to relieve a certain problem that has arisen.

**I will fall, I will fall if you come around  
>Just when i think my heart break has settled down<br>I will fall, I will fall if you come around**

The limo seemed too small of a space for all of us to be sharing, when it fact it was just the four of us. Me and a pretty junior whose name was Monica, on one side. And then there was Callie, sitting there with Justin, the good ole American boy from down the block. You know the one, raised by a mom who got pregnant one last time in an attempt to keep her husband from straying. The type of guy who holds a door open for a girl, who kisses her hand, and pulls out her chair for her. Who shows up at my fucking house wearing this ridiculous grin, getting ready to take my girl to the prom. And never in my life have I ever wanted to hit someone do badly, well maybe expect for Liam, but this guy Justin he just makes my skin crawl.

Just the way he is looking at her in her white gown with the gold accents, and the way her long hair is curled and thrown over one shoulder. Or the way Mariana got her makeup to look perfect and her skin to look dewy... And if he touches her one more fucking time I swear to god...

But she's looking at me, and I'm looking at her, and were sharing this look. Monica is begging for attention, and I don't care and Justin just put his arm around her. And so I calmly sip my soda, and engage Justin in conversation. Something, anything, so that he will take his hands off of her. And so I ask of football, because of course that is what he plays, and Monica squeals, because I forgot she's a cheerleader. Soon they're off in their own world discussing the free throw line or some shit like that, and since I don't really care about anything other than the girl sitting across from me at the moment, it doesn't even phase me when Justin starts to get all handsy with my date, as long as his bearish paws aren't mauling Callie. I sigh in relief.

"Hi." I finally say to her, after staring at her coming down the stairs back home. My mouth wide open, as I noticed how her breasts heaved when she finally made it to the bottom step. Or that when she bent down to retrieve her purse, I could see the outline of her thong in the slinky material that covered her body.

"Hi." She whispered back, and I took this as my cue to move across the limo, closer to her. We had about another five minutes until we reached the hotel where the prom was being held, and I didn't want to waste another second. Because soon she would be swept into the crowd bySasquatch over there, and I probably wouldn't see her until we returned back home. I let my hand drop onto the seat between us, and smiled slightly when she let her smaller hand drop into mine. Seemingly on accident because of a bump in the road, but the fact that she didn't move it right away, tells me she did it entirely on purpose. And then the pain is back, because I know that I can't hold her tonight, the way I want to.

I can't press her body close to mine, so that she can feel the erection that was already starting to form. And I wanted nothing more than to watch that dress pool at her feet in the moonlight, and I wanted to lay her down on that patch of grass from this morning, and love her correctly until the sun rose in the sky behind us. But even though I wanted to say all of that, to tell her all of that. I turned my head and looked her in the eye, smiling slightly.

"Save the last dance for me." I whispered as the limo came to a stop. She nodded before removing her hand from mine, climbing over my lap to get out of the limo. And as soon as the night began, I already wanted it to be over.

**When we said goodbye it was forever  
>And I spent the last year piecing my life together<br>Just when I think I've let you go  
>Your song's playing on the radio<br>And just like that it rushes back  
>Every part of you<strong>

I could see her swaying to the music with Justin across the room, and I felt the bile rush up my throat again, causing me to gag slightly. Monica and I had spent the last hour on the dance floor, with me keeping her back to the couple across the floor, making it so that I could watch her. Watch him, is what I told myself.

And when Justin's hairy oaf of a hand brushed over her ass, I saw red. My body went rigid, and I stopped dancing altogether. Monica looked up at me, silently asking me if I was okay with the lift of her eyebrow, I sighed tilting my head down to her, my eyes still on that jerk across the hall.

Who, mind you, if he didn't get his hand off of my girl's ass in two second, would be getting my size 11 up his very own ass. Followed by a keyboard to the skull. And I silently wondered when I had gotten this violent.

"It's hot in here." I said to Monica "I'm going to go get some air." And I left my date standing in the middle of the dance floor, stalking out of the room, making sure to bump into Justin as I walked by. I really didn't want to start a fight, but I would if I had to. Just to get that creep away from Callie. And again I wondered exactly where these feelings had come from, and why they had to read their ugly, but well wanted, heads today of all days. Standing outside the brisk night air hit my face, and with it came a sigh of relief. I leaned over the balcony, looking down the flight of steps to the sidewalk below. Asking myself, if I left now, and started to walk, would I make it home before dawn?

And even though I wanted to take off because it was literally killing me to see her in the arms of another man, I knew that there was at least one dance saved for me tonight. A four minute window where I could hold her close to my body, and we could pretend, without Jude or moms or the twins walking in on us. Without making a huge todo over a god forsaken kiss. When we could be horny teenagers at prom, and it could be my hand that slips down over the soft fabric to rest on the perfect swell of her ass.

But those fantasies are reserved for a boy and girl who do not share a house and a bathroom. Who I would not have to face tomorrow morning at breakfast, who if I did happen to get the chance to make love to her in the moonlight... And just like that the thoughts were gone, because she was standing beside me. And my body could feel her before I saw her. I could smell her and hear her coming, and she stood just a little too close. But that's okay, because I moved my arm closer to her, and she moved hers closer to me. We were both playing with fire, but I figured that Cinderella rules applied, and we got a free night. And at midnight everything would turn back to normal. I would go to my keyboard, and her to her guitar, and on Tuesday we would graduate and then we would both be gone.

Then I remind myself that this isn't a fucking fairy tale.

"Nice night." She says. And I feel as if she is mocking me in some way, but when I turn to look at her I see the tears forming in her eyes and it takes every single ounce of self control I have not to gather her into my arms and kiss those tears away. Instead, I turn back to the street and nod.

"Yeah." She huffs, her breasts rising and dropping once again, and I groan, and I know it was supposed to be silent, but I do it aloud anyway.

"You drive me crazy." I whisper into the night. She scoffs at me, glaring.

"Not as crazy as you drive me." She counters, and that's when I turn to her. And I notice that her eyeshadow has a small tint of green to it, which happens to be my favorite color, and she's wearing the bracelet I got her for Christmas last year, and she's wearing the perfume that I love.

"Why couldn't have this been easy?" I ask her, she shrugs. Signaling that she doesn't know, and being newly 18 I don't know the answer either. I turn my back to the street, glaring at the doors to the ballroom, to the suppression behind them.

"We should get back." She says and I laugh, my voice full of malice.

"Yes, wouldn't want to keep Bigfoot waiting now would we?" And that's when it happens, when she throws her head back and barks out an insane laughter that had my stomach tightening and my mouth turning upwards, and before I know it I'm smiling too. She's clutching onto me, doubled over, and I can plainly see down her dress now, and it makes me laugh louder and harder, tears threatening to spill from my eyes because I'm so fucking attracted to her and I know that I can't have her. I know she wants me too, and it's frustrating, and when our eyes connect that laughing stops completely. I let go of her, and she stands up right, patting her hair.

"See you at the limo." She says, before walking off into the door of suppression. And just like that my sour mood is back, and I continue staring at the street, wondering how long it would take me to walk to Boston from here. And before I know it it's 10:30 and prom is over in a half hour, and my date and her date are hooking up in the corner, and I don't give a shit. Because finally his hands are off of her.

**l will fall, I will fall if you come around  
>Just when I think my heart break has settles down<br>I will fall, I will fall if you come around**

I help her out of the limo, she has her hair in a bun now, and her shoes are held in her hands. And before I can even say anything she's turning from the house to walk towards the beach, and I follow her, placing my jacket around her shoulders and placing my hands in my pocket. We walk on in silence for what feels like forever but in reality is only ten minutes. And when we reach the dock she stares at me, daring me with those fucking eyes of hers.

"Let's jump." She stage whispers. And I look at her like she's crazy. But then I realize that I'm crazy too, and the tuxedo has to be returned tomorrow, so I start stripping it off on the dock. Before either of us know it we are in our underwear, standing a few feet back, and then she takes off running for the edge, and I do the only thing that has made sense to me in a while. I follow her. And before I know it I'm falling off the dock, and the metaphor slaps me as hard as the water does when it envelopes my body.

I fell for this girl. I love this girl. I'm in love with this girl. And when she comes up for air, with her hair plastered to her head, and her mascara running down her face, I swim over to her. And the moonlight is reflecting off the beads of water that have collected on her eyelashes, and I do something I haven't done in a while. My hands reach out for her waist, and I'm pulling her closer, and my lips are hovering, and then they are touching hers and my dick is hard. And my god she is moaning and pulling me closer. And I know that drugs are bad, but Callie isn't and so I touch her. I run my hands over her body, and rest one on the beautiful ass of hers. And I feel whole, and the pain I have been feeling all day is gone. And I relax, because this is right.

When her lips turn blue, and her teeth are chattering we make our way back to our clothes, wordlessly pulling them back onto our drying bodies. She reached out for my hand, and we walk barefoot back to the house. The doors are locked, so we sneak around to the side door, the entry way to the kitchen, and there are the base of the tree is a patch of moonlight and I smile.

"I never did get that dance you know." I say to her, pulling her body closer to mine. And we barely move to the humming coming from both of us, but we're content that way. Her head resting on my chest, my hands on her waist. Dancing in the moonlight at two in the morning. And I realized that Cinderella rules sort of applied here, even though at midnight the limo didn't turn back into a pumpkin, and somewhere along the way we lost both of her shoes. I look down at her.

"Boston?" I ask.

"Boston." She replies.

**I will fall, I will fall if you come around**.

A/N: prologue to my story the letters. Song is I Will Fall by Claire Bowen and Sam Palladino (the cast of Nashville)


	2. Chapter 2

**When you wake up wanting me **  
><strong>And you can't go back to sleep<strong>  
><strong>Change your mind<strong>  
><strong>When you're weak and all alone<strong>  
><strong>And you're reaching for the phone<strong>  
><strong>Change your mind<strong>  
><strong>Keep on going til you're gone<strong>  
><strong>Even when you when you think it's wrong<strong>  
><strong>When you look back in regret<strong>  
><strong>The moment that you left<strong>

There's something so comforting about the way the hot water pounds on my back as I sit with my knees bent to my chest in the shower. Something calming. Abusive even. Something I'm used to, far from the comforting caress that living inside this house has given me. Something that reminds me I am dirty. I am broken. That I am no good for him. And I choose to sit this way in the shower, with my back facing the faucet, because that means I am facing his room. And if the wall weren't there, he could see right into my eyes. And I clutch his body wash closer to my chest, inhaling his scent, causing my heart to break just a bit more. I sit there remembering how he smelt when his lips pushed themselves against mine, gently at first, and then with such force that we knocked teeth. And I was embarrassed because I totally forgot to brush my teeth that morning, but I didn't care, because his hands were on my waist. He was finally holding me and he didn't seem to care that my breath smelt like onions and cream cheese. And so neither did I.

I remember that it was around midnight in the Adams Foster household, and each bed would have their respective owner sound asleep in them, but not mine. And hopefully not his either, but we regulated ourselves to one Tuesday a month. One blissful Tuesday where we would stay up all night, whispering to each other in the living room, where he held me. One six hour time span where he was just Brandon. And I was just Callie. And we were just two kids in love. As the sun rose in the sky, we would untangle our limbs, and tiredly climb back up the stairs and pretend to wake up. Pretend that we had actually slept the night before...

The not sleeping thing was easier for me, than tossing and turning in those blue polka dotted sheets, my mind replaying that one kiss and those conversations. Because we didn't dare do anything but cuddle in the household anymore. Because for some reason we decided to give in and try to stop loving each other. To me, it is the single most stupid fucking thing I've ever done in my life. Because I love that boy, and I know I love him, and he knows I love him, and the family knows I love him. But we all pretend that I don't. What a bunch of fucking liars we are...

And the disgust at myself that tears through me on a warpath has me reaching behind me to turn the hot water up higher, trying to inflict just a bit more pain onto myself, because I'm hopelessly numb. I have been for a while, a coping mechanism of sorts. But I can feel him, and his touch sets me on fire, and tonight I'm blazing under the constant torrent of water streaming down my body. And try as hard as I can to get the feel of his lips off of mine, or his hand off of my ass...

When the water starts to sputter out of the shower head, and I can hear the water heater rattle, I allow myself to sob. I've already scrubbed my body red, but I have to get rid of these feelings, even if it kills me. So I clamp my hand to my mouth, and I cry, and I gag, and I try to rid myself of Brandon Michael Foster, but I can't. Because he's got this magical fucking hold on me, and just looking into his eyes makes me wet. I've ruined so many pairs of panties because of that boy, and he doesn't even know it. And I think to myself if I could just fuck him once...

But once with him would never be enough, and I'm smart enough to know that. And he knows of my past, and he's gentle, and I know in my heart that he won't hurt me. So I touch myself to thoughts of him, and I silently wish that he does the same. When I close my eyes, I let myself remember the fire that his skin ignites on my body, and I countdown the days until three Tuesdays from now when he can hold me on the couch.

I start to despise Tuesdays and love them at the same time.

When the water runs cold I turn the tap off, silently toweling dry and slipping one of his discarded tshirts over my head, letting the gentle cotton caress my breasts, letting myself feel close to him once again. I sit on top of the toilet seat with the bathroom door open just a crack, because I'm not yet used to being enclosed in small spaces. I watch as the steam rises out of the bathroom, curling out of the door, floating away in what I assume is his direction. Because every little fucking part of me is drawn to him, like moths to a flame.

It's when I finally decide to walk back to my bedroom that I hear the quiet caress of his voice, and it clutches onto me, pleading with me to stay just a moment longer, just hear him it says. And I'm not sure if his voice paralyzes me, or if I'm just too stupid to walk away. But my brain and my heart and my body all want me to listen to that voice, the words caressing my body, causing the fire between my legs. And I moan softly into the night air, my eyes flirting with the morning of a Monday. I know I shouldn't, but I creep closer to his door, settling myself onto the wood, and listen.

**Change your mind  
>Baby don't come back this time<br>Don't wanna have to say goodbye  
>All over again<br>So if you think there's still a chance to make it right  
>And I'm the only one you want tonight<br>Change your mind  
>Change your mind<strong>

I listen to his fingers as they press the white and black keys that he loves so much, playing with such a pain that I put in his heart. Because I know I shattered this boy when I told him goodbye, when I packed up my bags and I ran off with Wyatt. I knew the destruction I would be leaving behind, and I knew that I would come back to them. To him. Because for some reason even my traitorous fucking blood seems to flow in his direction.

The hurt in his voice startles me, the begging and the pleading. And I silently agree that I shouldn't have done this to us, that I should have never let him kiss me. But I did, and I can't take it back, because for fuck's sake, I'm pretty sure that I initiated the kiss. I'm almost positive that I wanted him since the first time I laid my eyes on him, that I wanted to fuck him as soon as he laid that piece of lasagna on my plate. Right there. On the dinner table. In front of his seemingly perfect family.

But I controlled myself for two months, 8 long weeks, of spilling my secrets one by one. And he, the boy who I broke so completely, stood before the brick wall that was me, and beat on the red stones until his hands were bruised and bloody. And he kept coming back for more because with each punch I gave him a smile, or a laugh, or a little morsel of information. And then came Liam, whose name still causes such a panic in my heart. And I could see the hurt on his stoic face clearly after two years, the rage that flashed through his eyes and his body as his jaw clenched and unclenched. When I spilled my darkest secret of all, when I told him exactly how dirty I fucking was.

But he loved me anyway, and that was scary as...fuck. It was scary as fuck. It is still scary. And I hear him take a breath behind his bedroom door, his voice caressing my name as it rolls off of his tongue, and I swear to god I think I may have just came in another pair of panties, bringing my total number down to three clean pairs. Because how do I tell moms that I need new underwear because their son makes me orgasm without even touching me? Being women themselves, they will know exactly why I have stuffed the panties into the legs of my jeans, in hopes that they won't ever notice them. But I know they will and my face grows red in embarrassment, sitting in this hallway. And I know I've soiled myself because I can feel it gathered between my legs and I hate myself just a bit more. But he continues playing, and if possible, my body moves closer to the door...closer to him.

**In the early morning haze  
>When my kiss is all you crave<br>Let it go  
>Cause I don't wanna do that dance<br>The push and pull, the second chance  
>I already know<br>Yeah, I know  
>You'll just promise me forever<br>And then you'll take it back just like that  
>Say you can't live without me, then you'll <strong>

It takes me a while, because my mind is paralyzed by his voice, my nerve endings are on fire, and all I want is for him to touch me. To make me feel clean, because even after my shower I feel filthy. But he thinks I'm beautiful, and I guess that's okay, because I don't see what he sees. I see a disposable girl with mousy brown hair and eyes that are too close together. I see ribs that are finally growing some fat, because there is actual food in this foster home. I see the jagged cracked tooth when I smile and am instantly reminded when I took that kick to the face for defending Jude. And as the clock reaches one am on a Monday, almost one week before graduation, I wish that I could finally see what he sees.

And I remember the day I showed up on their doorstep after leaving Wyatt at a gas station in Kentucky. My hair was dirty, and I was dirty, and I smelled like shit, and I didn't even bring a toothbrush with me... But he pulled me into this hug, pressing my disgustingly dirt caked body closer to his own, and kissed me. Right there on the front porch, he kissed me, holding my face to his with the palms of his hand, his to undue searching in my mouth, probably for the meal I had a week ago. But he was kissing me again, and I was on fire, and I didn't car that we just broke about a hundred rules for the second time in as many weeks, so I kissed him back. And I know my mouth tasted like crap and my breath reeked, but he didn't care, and so I didn't either.

My ass has fallen asleep, and I didn't realize it until now, but he didn't shut his door all the way, and I'm halfway in his room now, and I can hear him clearly, and better yet I can see him. His shoulders are hunched over his keyboard, and his body is rigid, and he is shaking. It takes me a minute to realize that he is sobbing his way through the song, crying over his keyboard at one in the morning, to a song that so clearly portrays everything he wishes his mind could say to me.

And I know I'm not supposed to, because it's not Tuesday. But I move deeper into his room, my mind telling me yes, my body telling me yes... Before I know it I've crawled onto his bed, clutching his pillow closer to my chest, gathering his blankets around my body, and I stare at him. And I don't feel weird because I know I'm welcome here. I know I'm safe here, and in between his sheets I feel beautiful and I know in his arms I could begin to see what he sees. I want that for myself, I want to be able to look into the mirror and know I'm not disposable, to know I'm loved...to know I'm wanted.

"Hi." I say to him, thankful that I closed and locked the door behind me, because he jumps so far off of his bench, his fingers slipping off of the keys, hitting the wrong notes and he turns to look at me. And I wish I could say that the spell was broken, but it's not, because I'm wearing his shirt, and I washed myself in his body wash, and I'm laying in his bed, and I can tell from the way he is looking at me, that he's aroused. I remember the way his hand felt when it slipped over my ass in the cold ocean water a few days ago after prom. And I remember how excited I was to feel his hardened member pressed into me at the base of my stomach, to know that touching me, seeing me did this to him. And he didn't force me to suck him off, and so I love him more than I did before. Because all he did was kiss me, and touch my ass, and hold me.

"Hi," he whispers back to me, his left hand reaching behind him to flick off his keyboard. And I can see the bulge in his pants already, and that makes me feel strong, in control. And I know I shouldn't, but I'm surrounded by him, and so I reach down and touch myself in his bed. I moan and his eyes grow wide, because he knows what I'm doing, and it's turning him on endlessly.

"Callie," he says in an exhale of breath, his chest heaving, and his eyes growing darker by the thought of me touching myself in his bed. And there is a part of me that wishes he would grab himself while staring at me, but he's too kind to do that, and will probably wait until I'm safely back in my bed before relieving himself, in this very same bed, surrounded by the thought of me, and the warmth left behind by my burning body.

**Change your mind  
>Baby don't come back this time<br>Don't wanna have to say goodbye  
>All over again<br>So if you think there's still a chance to make it right  
>And I'm the only one, the one you want tonight<br>Change your mind**

I don't remember exactly how he ended up in bed with me, or how I could ever not want him to touch me like this again. And I fear the heat of my body will set this entire fucking house on fire, but when his hands ghost over my breasts I moan into his mouth. And I feel him stiffen against me, because I think he's just realized that I'm wearing his shirt, and I smell like him. My hair has dried now, framing my face in a mass of wildly disorganized pieces, and I know they're in his nostrils, and damn it all to fucking hell if I didn't forget to brush my teeth again.

But I've come to the realization that when it comes to him he doesn't care if I'm pristine and new and shiny. He doesn't care that I'm used, abused, dirty, and dull. To him I am perfect, and the feeling of knowing that someone loves me, like actually loves me, causes tears to fall from my eyes. And I know that I love him even more when he removes his hands from my body and stands up so quickly. And I know that the tears are what caused him to pull away from me, and so I reach back out to him. Silently begging him to touch me again.  
>"Brandon, please." I finally say when he doesn't climb back into the bed with me, when he doesn't begin to touch me.<p>

"You're crying Callie." He responds, sitting himself back onto his bench in that alcove. And though I hate to leave the safety of his bed, and his scent surrounding me, I get out of the bed. I stand in front of him, placing my hands on his cheek.

"I'm happy." I say before taking off his shirt that I stole two years ago, and standing in front of him. Naked from the waist up. And before I can change my mind I hook my hands into my shorts and soiled panties and pull those down as well. I don't know where this courage came from, but I'm suddenly straddling him on that fucking bench, and he's moaning and I'm moaning and it all sounds like music to our ears.

And like I said I knew fucking him once would never be the end of it, and in my mind I had solidified our decision to run to Boston. Because while he was inside of me, with my hands pressed on those black and white keys that he loves, and his hands gripping me ass so tightly I fear he might bruise the cheeks, I finally see myself the way he sees me.

And we finish in his bed, and he kisses me face so gently, and continues to kiss me as our heart rates return to normal. I sigh and lay my head on his chest.

"Let's leave tomorrow." I whisper before extracting myself from him and putting his clothing back on my body. And this time I leave my soiled panties on his bedroom floor, a little reminder to get him through the next twenty four hours in this house, because I will have the comfortable ache between my legs. I return to my bed with not just myself drying on my thighs, but him as well. And for the first time in my life, I don't feel dirty.

**Change your mind  
>Change your mind<strong>

**A/N: Song is Change Your Mind as sung by Claire Bowen and Sam Palladio. I officially declare this prequel completed. I hope you enjoy, and I never thought Callie's section would be just as sexual as it turned out to be. thanks for reading, see you all in the confines of The Letter. **


End file.
